


It Mattered Not

by thegirlwiththefandoms



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor 2 - Fandom
Genre: Angst. A lot of angst, Gen, Introspection, Ouches, Pain, Spoilers for Thor 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 00:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwiththefandoms/pseuds/thegirlwiththefandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Spoiler Alert*</p><p>Loki receives news of Frigga's death. He does not take it well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Mattered Not

It wasn’t as if he had expected the courtesy of being kept up on the news of the Asgardian happenings. So when the guard approached Loki’s cell, where he sat idly, bored and agitated—as was his current state quite often at this point—he was not entirely sure of the reason. He bore no food or anything otherwise of interest to Loki, and yet, his face spoke of ominousness which Loki could not conceive. Well, that was, not until he spoke.  


He had been well aware of the fact that there had been an invasion. He had, after all, been present for the start of it, even offering the great behemoth of a creature he did not entirely recognize directions toward a more successful path. It had been Loki’s hope of hopes that he would locate Odin and put an end to him. It was not the Trickster’s preference, of course, in that he would relish the slide of his _own_ spear into the Allfather’s withered flesh. It was no less than he deserved, what with his treachery throughout Loki’s childhood and then his harsh, unfeeling regard for the man who had done naught more than what he’d observed from the ‘great King of Asgard’. He rotted in a cell while Odin relished in his power and his oafish true son bruted his way through the Nine Realms, free to come and go as he pleased. What had Loki done which was really so contemptible? He had wanted to rule Midgard. It was his right, regardless of what Odin had declared. He was a fool, and Loki would kill him if given half a chance.  


It seemed, however, that his advice to the creature had been ill-placed. Yes, devastation had befallen Asgard. Of course Loki could hear it as he sat idly in his cell, book open on his lap and a smug expression on his face. But one such devastation he had not heard. And it was perhaps the most damaging.  


He had remained entirely silent as the guard delivered the news of Frigga’s fall. She had died with honour. Of course she had. And yet, for what reason? Loki knew not the reason for the invasion of Asgard, though he could find a number of valid excuses for such a coup. Even if none of his musings had proven correct, there had to be a justification in the minds of the creatures. After all, Loki would absolutely have his. They would be ‘evil’ as defined by the ‘good’ people of Asgard. But would they be truly? Loki would think not. Whatever their reason was rendered entirely null when Loki imagined the only mother he had ever known, a woman who would never truly be his despite her unbiased love for him—and he could acknowledge such love, even in his jaded self-loathing for his own failure and then imprisonment at the hands of her husband, dying at the hands of something so unworthy. She died protecting the woman. Thor’s Midgardian whore who had somehow managed to render herself significant through no cunning of her own.  


His veins had gone cold as his heritage, his heart slowing in the mounting devastation of the news. Ever the stoic, he had nodded to the guard, dismissing him with a tight mouth and eyes which threatened to leak mutinous tears. No matter his pain, these were still his enemy. They were unworthy of the raw emotion flowing through him. Perhaps Thor believed him ruthless, unfeeling. Perhaps they all thought Loki of Jotunheim entirely unable to hurt. They were so wrong. He hurt. The pain was so great that he threatened to burst as he stumbled away from the force field keeping him in.  


Coming to stand in the middle of his cell, he felt his hands beginning to tremble as he recalled the blasé manner in which he had dismissed Frigga the day of his sentencing. Odin had informed him that she was the only reason he still lived. And he had been cruel. Smirking in her face. Of course, he had been protecting himself from false love or from false hope. She could hurt him and he knew this. She was a weakness, and they were not to be acknowledged. So it had been snark even as Odin had promised that he would never see her again. Now, he never truly would. Not without his illusions and his wavering glamours which meant nothing. Which held no warmth and would never capture the pained affection in her eyes. He couldn’t match it. He no longer understood it. His mother had fallen.  


As his grief ever-mounted, Loki’s trembling hands curled into fists, the weight of this new pain eclipsing everything: his resentment, his desire to rule, his hatred for Odin and Thor. Everything was buried beneath the smothering understanding that the one creature which had ever truly cared for him without expectation, without condition, was gone. And he could have done nothing to prevent it. He had trained under her hand. He had risen to the creature he was with her assistance, her steadfast encouragement. He had no true mother, but Frigga had been greater.  


The first sob caught in the Trickster’s chest as a shockwave of magic roiled off of him and connected with everything solid in the room. Chairs levitated and the small tables which had made his cell far more of a luxury than the others in this prison snapped and collapsed to the floor, much like his newly tortured psyche. Another sob, and he moved with violence. Seizing another chair, the god felt it connect with the back of the cell, felt it splinter in his hands. He moved with unbridled hurt, breaking. Destroying. Wanting everything in the room to mirror the now-wretched creature housed within it. When he had effectively destroyed everything, Loki’s knees hit the hard floor. He did not feel the inevitable bruise as his fingers tore at his hair, tugging it from the coif in which he kept it. He had never cared less for his appearance than in that very moment. In fact, it repulsed him. This armour he wore which did nothing to shield him. The elegance he steadfastly upheld to keep him safe.  


He gave a broken laugh at that thought. Safe. Safe from what? From harm? From pain? It did nothing. His fingers tore at the beaten leather vest he wore, the breastplate, the tunic. His magic—magic she had taught him—melted each offending article into nothing. His boots. Everything. Until he stood in nothing more than a soft green undershirt and breeches, tears burning down his face as the trembling threatened to become unbearable. Struggling to his feet, Loki stumbled to the corner of the room, wanting to hide himself within it. To make himself as small and insignificant as he felt. Feet bore down upon the glass of a shattered goblet and he collapsed, shrieking in both physical and emotional agony. It did no good.  


He did manage to make it to the corner, sitting like a shadow around the chaos he had created. It was nothing compared to what his mind did to him now. He was unstable, he was mad. In this moment, he had never been surer of it. His weeping gaze found the middle of the room, where he attempted to conjure her. To see her once more. However, he gave a cry of self-hatred as the form began to shiver into life. Seizing a bit of debris, the threw it through the forming woman’s figure, watching it ripple out of existence as the debris struck the force field and fell to the floor. He didn’t deserve to see her again. He hadn’t since he had lost himself.  


She would burn that night. She would burn, and he would not be there to see it. Of that, he was sure. Shaking his head, he allowed it to fall into his hands. And there he would wait. Until he truly rotted. Until someone else recalled his presence in this cell. Until he faded away.  


It mattered not.


End file.
